


stay with me

by zytline



Category: Gravity Falls, ParaNorman (2012)
Genre: M/M, Parapines, Slow Build, also I cuss a lot if someone out there cares just a warning, lol what the hell is formatting ugh, norman and dipper are teenagers yay hormones and things, not sure if anyone is still in the fandom but I felt like I had to save this somewhere lol, self-discovery and shit, the major character death is Mabel but I tagged it anyway?, uhhhh summer fun time yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zytline/pseuds/zytline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer adventure where Norman gets hired by Stan to be a grief counselor, Mabel's a ghost who's pretty damn okay with not moving on and Dipper learns to grow without Mabel by his side.</p><p>See also: the fic where Mabel terrorizes Norman from beyond the grave about his summer crush on Dipper Pines.</p><p>--</p><p>Originally posted on tumblr, but I deleted the blog since then. Really liked this story, so it's up here on AO3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While I def took a lot of creative liberties with the fic (haha), you can find the original prompt here if you're interested:
> 
> http://lapook.tumblr.com/post/41383505882/parapines-headcanon-or-au-idk-mabel-drowns-and

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who ya gonna call?! One Norman Babcock on vacation, apparently.

As always, summer was hot and lazy, killing the desire to do anything with a heavy bog of both intense sunshine and crappy humidity. Summer was supposed to hold the spirit of no school and no obligations and youth and freedom and heavy drinking, but Norman was having none of that. Because the season had always been about weight: Norman just felt physically heavy, unwilling to really think or care, building up walls and walls of heat-induced apathy.

And yet, just months before, just a few glorious months before… things had seemingly been going okay for Norman. Except—like most things in life—everything hit him. All at once, and in the face, and with the force of a titanium baseball bat.

Suddenly, he was done with his sophomore year of high school. Everyone in the world only knew how to talk about college and getting out. People in Blithe Hollow had actual goals for once in their lives.

Frighteningly, he started realizing that his hormones actually freaking existed, and that, even worse, boners could be spontaneously natural.

And the worst thing—the worst thing—was that Norman got asked out by this girl (an actual girl) that wasn’t afraid of him in the slightest and thought his hair was hilarious yet wonderful and he stuttered a yes and she had a cute smile and they went to go see a horror movie, and all of it went so surprisingly well that Norman’s heart was singing with joy, except for the part where she kissed him goodnight, and he realized he didn’t know how to, and that when Norman caught glances of her, she was flushed and so incredibly into it, but he realized with this awakening pit of doom from his stomach, that—nonononono, he didn’t like that at all. (Fortunately, the girl—Sophie—was incredibly kind, and when she realized he wasn’t responding to her making out with him, she stopped, and she and Norman had a nice, long talk about hormones and turn-ons and sexuality, to which Norman almost wanted to cry because of sudden epiphanies and general uncharted waters).

So no, Norman wasn’t going to think about Blithe Hollow. He wasn’t gonna think about his life. He wasn’t gonna think about plans. All he wanted to do was lie on the hardwood floors of their rented cabin and drink up the cold staleness of the fan sitting next to him; all he wanted to mentally process were his favorite horror B-movies, drinking in the fake gore and the cheesy screams. He was gonna absorb the laziness through his pores, conquer the days with awesome movies and doodles and books, and revel in the sanctuary of being absolutely, completely alone and unable to be found, so that he could sort out all the college crap and sexuality stuff in the peace of his own mind while he still had the chance.

At least, that was what this summer was supposed to be like. It was supposed to be quiet. It was supposed to be Gravity Falls. He was practically promised a vacation to nowhere. Nobody was supposed to find them here.

And yet, they did.  
  


* * *

  
One day, there was a tight knock rapping on the Babcock family’s summer cabin. Norman blinked, startled that such a thing even happened; he could feel his blood coursing in the adrenaline of genuine surprise. Not only was their rented summer cabin a good ways away from any actual road, but it was pretty deep into the woods too. Sure, it was by a popular lake in the town or whatever. But nobody ever touched the peculiarly perched vacation homes on the side. Or at least, nobody was supposed to.

Norman, waking up from his laziness-induced stupor, began stirring as he heard the screen door clackity-clack open.

“Hey Perry, how are ya?” drawled an older gentleman from outside. Norman craned his neck from his slouched spot on the sofa. From his angle, he got a good view of his dad’s back talking to a shadowed face beyond the screen door. The smell of woods began filling the space, and Norman could feel the dry heat of an Oregon summer start bleeding into the bite of their cabin’s air conditioning.

“Oh hey! You calling me up to go fishing?” he heard his dad chirp.

“…Nah, I need a favor…” the mystery man grunted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Perry paused hesitantly. “Look, Stan. I know you have that Mystery Shack, but really… I know I came by to see it before ‘cause we’re fishing pals, but I really can’t bring myself to go back there again—“

“What? No, I’m not here for that! I, um… I need help”, Stan said slowly. He sighed loudly, messaging his temples. “Perry, the reason I’m always at the lake…” he trailed off. Determined, Stan said, “Right, I got this kid—“

“…you-you’ve got a kid?!” Norman heard his dad sputter out in surprise.

“Nah, not my own kid! I got this, like… great nephew or something. I think. Whatever, he’s family, that’s all that matters. Real…” Stan paused, “great kid. Bright and stuff, but not really… all together. I mean he used to, but right now… nah… He was always kinda too into the books you know? Not prepared enough for life’s curveballs, in my opinion—“

Perry shook his head impatiently. “Stan… I don’t get it. What’s this got to do with me? You want me to help out with your nephew?”

“Not… your help, per se…” Stan said after several moments of silence.

“Oh?” Perry’s voice took on a hard edge. “Then why are you here?”

“Look, your son… he can see ghosts and what not, right? You told me yourself, your son’s quite the talent—“

Norman sat up suddenly at the mention of him. Not only did his father apparently just let loose that he had a paranormal gift… (Like seriously, they’d only been in this town for what… a week? Who was this dude anyway?) But his dad called his… thing… a talent? Just as Norman began readjusting himself to get a better view of the front door, his dad spoke again.

“What do you want with Norman?” Perry’s voice had an edge to it.

“Look, my kid… Family calls him Dipper. He… He had a twin sister,” Stan said slowly, drawing out the word “had” incredibly slowly. “Uhm… yeah. It’s been like… two years? Car accident in California a while back, and Gravity Falls just happened to be their last vacation together, where it was just the two of them. Dipper didn’t deal with the accident well, but he… wanted to prove he was finally over it, and he got this idea that visiting Gravity Falls by himself would bring closure or whatever… Now he’s too stubborn to admit that it was a bad idea, because he’s just being depressed all over the place—”

Norman’s heart fell into a different wing of the stomach pit of doom.

“Look, Stan, I don’t know if I want to get Norman involved in that… All that doom and gloom—”

“I’ll pay your son. Paying that kid… Maybe not the best pay, but hey, that’s better than nothing on what’s supposed to be a vacation anyway, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a vacation, Stan. I told Norman that it would just be us three—oh, Courtney has this summer job at her college, lay off—and you know, the town back home never really got over his gift,” Perry winced. “Though they’ve been giving him enough grief as it is on this new thing apparently, geez—”

Norman winced. There had been talk about him and Sophie when it didn’t work out (because like, who else would apparently be into Norman ever?). And while Sophie and him had gotten to the point of hanging out regularly (he, Sophie, Neil, and Salma even started sitting together at lunch), people were talking again. _Why aren’t they dating? Or are they? I can’t really tell, you know? I wonder what happened on their date? That was pretty big for Babcock, yeah…?_

Norman gulped at the memory. Just the thought of people talking about him made his mouth dry and his throat tighten. Pushing it out of his mind, Norman tried refocusing on his dad. “I don’t know about springing this up on him; this was a time to get away and—”

“Babcock,” Stan interjected sullenly. “You know when someone you care about’s so down that you don’t know what to do with yourself?”

And his words sucked the air out of the room. Perry fell quiet. Norman blinked. There was this dude. Outside his front door was someone he had never met, who—not only didn’t care about his gift at all—actually believed in it. Who wasn’t judging it or whispering behind his back, but was actually begging his dad to help him, and—  
Norman gulped, knowing he was defeated. The last sentence that Stan had said completely rendered Norman helpless. Because the thing about the way he said it… he was pleading. He was desperate, and it came off as one of the most incredibly genuine things Norman had ever experienced, and it just made Norman’s skin crawl, in this weird mixture of discomfort and the desire to ultimately fix it.

“Perry, that’s me right now,” Stan’s growly voice said quietly. “The kid won’t eat. He won’t leave his room. I’ve been making him breakfast. I never make breakfast! I made him freaking pancakes, and he won’t even eat them. It’s weird. He won’t see his friends here. He won’t talk to me. He doesn’t do anything. I tell him to work, he does. Used to fake doing it while going out adventuring or whatever. That was okay. At least that was him, you know? Just… god, I don’t know what to do. Can you help me?”

“I’ll do it.”

Norman’s eyes blinked, registering that he had even spoke. Processing that he had just butt into a conversation in which neither participant had even known he was even awake, the older men just stared at him in surprise.

“Norman, what are you doing—“ Perry started off quietly.

_I need to help this guy._

“Hey,” the teenage seer ignored his father, stretching and climbing over the sofa. He untangled himself, making his way towards the doorway. “When do I get to meet this kid?”  
  
“As soon as you can…” Stan said softly, his eyes shifting from Babcock father to son.

Norman ignored his father’s piercing glare. “And you’re sure… that there’s a ghost involved? I don’t want to show up and… make him… like, worse,” Norman’s voice came out as a whisper on the last word.

Stan paused. “I’m pretty sure. Too many weird things have happened that… you know… there’s no way she’s not hanging around. She must have done them.”  
  
Norman’s heart pounded. “Like what?” he leaned in, his voice an edgy whisper.

Stan shuddered, thinking of it. “All of my fezzes have been bedazzaled,” he winced seriously.  
  


* * *

  
And just like that, Norman Babcock’s summer suddenly became not as dull as he had hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this somewhere around 2013? Done for lapook on tumblr. Found their prompt in the parapines tag and I liked it so much that I started writing a fic for it. Planning on making it multi-chaptered and mostly fluffy and fun. Some serious moments later on though. There’s gonna be some action and some language (nothing too bad though), so I’m just gonna go safe and say it’s rated T. Enjoy the first chapter! It’s the set-up, so sorry for the lack of actual shipping.


	2. Chapter 2

While Norman had ignored his dad’s warnings and felt weirdly connected to Stan’s plight, and for some reason felt incredibly passionate about reconciling this dude with his dead sister’s ghost, two minutes of Dipper Pines made Norman want to crawl back into his shell of summer laziness.  
There were two reasons for that:

1\. Dipper Pines was insufferable.  
2\. Dipper Pines was also much cuter than Norman had anticipated.

Stan had driven Norman from Lake Gravity Falls to the Mystery Shack almost immediately after Norman’s agreement to his terms (that being pay was $3/day plus some food). Norman’s dad laughed because that actually beat his expectations (knowing Stan personally), and Norman wasn’t in it for the pay anyway, so he became Stan’s favorite employee on the history of the earth. (“Wow, kid, you know business!” Stan cried in the car during the ride back. “If you do well, I may even give you a $0.50 raise!”)

But there was something else Norman was doing it for. Sure, there was the kid. A kid in desperate need of reminding that sometimes it’s better to not be alone. Norman had been there, and he knew how much other people could help in that kinda state of mind. (And… admittedly… he also secretly craved the pleasure of reuniting ghosts with their loved ones).

But not only was he doing it for Dipper and warm fuzzies, but… Norman was doing it for himself. There was something different when Stan came. There was a charge in the dry air of Gravity Falls, something that lit Norman on fire when he finally exited his cabin for the first time in a week, and in this incredibly inspired moment, as the sun of a low afternoon met Norman’s eyes… he just wanted to… to do something. Especially because it was summer. Especially because every freaking person in Gravity Falls was basically a stranger to him. Especially because he was thousands of miles away from home. Norman could do anything here; he could be anyone. And that idea intoxicated him like no other.

As they approached the Shack (the “S” in Shack making it seem like the more appropriately titled “Mystery Hack”), Stan stopped yapping for the first time to look wistfully at the cabin. He sighed, sucking in air as he turned to face Norman. “Just a bit of fair warning,” Stan laughed. “Don’t trust your first impression of him.”

Norman tentatively followed inside as Stan made a beeline for a room next to… the gift shop? Wait, what? Norman looked around in confusion; they lived in the tourist trap? Stan failed a bit even mentioning that…

“Hey kid, get in here!”

Norman’s eyes broke from a wall of snowglobes, and he hesitantly followed the sound of Stan’s voice. As Norman entered the right room, Stan grinned, leaning over the back of a couch in front of them. “This is the kid my fishing buddy was talking about,” Stan called to a lump across the room, and the seer watched as a teenage boy around his age freeze up from his space directly in front of the TV and then turn around hesitantly to face them. And suddenly, as his face came more and more into view, Norman felt his heart jolt into overdrive, as a shock of hormones and surprise tingled his way through his body; he felt his blush rise, knew his ears were turning red, and realized that there was that sensation again in his stomach, that—somewhere in the back of Norman’s mind—he knew his heart had fallen into a pit again, but this pit was different. This pit had walls made of butterflies that sang Christmas carols and as they were flying up from the pit of doom in a victory escape, their wings were leaving trails of warmth running up his throat, and just, oh my god, was this what Sophie meant about the right moment because—

“I don’t need him.”

Norman blinked. _Wow. What an absolute charmer._

The seventeen year old looked dully at Norman, making eye contact. _Oh, god, he’s looking at me and he won’t stop wait his eyes are hazel holy crap is that some kind of smolder wait why would he give me the smolder_ —

“I don’t even think he’s legit.”

Norman blinked out of his stupor. Wait, what the hell? He was sure his face was full of surprise and disgust, but wait, sorry, say that again? Not legit? Are you kidding me?

“Excuse me,” Norman spat out. “But I’ve gone through hell and back because of my abilities, so no stranger is going to tell me what I can and can’t see.”

Stan looked from Norman to Dipper and smiled. “Great!” he cried, clapping Norman on the back. “Great start! You two get acquainted, and I’m gonna go back to making us lunch or something!”

Norman watched Stan in panic. He wasn’t prepared for this. He was ready for melancholy and depressed auras, not some stand-offish, rude kid that happened to be a pretentious jerk. Not to mention that Norman was immediately attracted to said pretentious jerk guy.

“Look.”

Norman blinked in concentration, almost reeling forward from the anxiety that exploded from his stomach at the sound of Dipper’s voice. _Holy shit, just the sound of his voice triggers some weird reaction!? How am I going to do this job?_

“Yeah?” Norman managed to cough out, looking carefully at Dipper in what he hoped was contempt.

“Look, just… Sorry,” Dipper mumbled, looking away in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. “You obviously care about your abilities and stuff, so… yeah. Sorry,” he sighed. Dipper sighed aggressively, leaning his face back so that he could look at the ceiling instead of Norman’s eyes.

Norman inwardly cursed himself for two things: a) he didn’t listen to Stan about “first impressions” and he was afraid he seemed petty all of a sudden; b) that all he could focus on was Dipper’s jawline, holy shit…

“I just…” Dipper growled, sitting up suddenly. He paused, scrunching up his face before beginning to move towards the couch that Norman was standing behind. “Look,” he said pointedly, grinning falsely. “I’m sure you’re great at whatever it is you think you do. Ghost whisperer or counselor or whatever,” Dipper nodded as he spoke. “And I’m sorry I don’t 100% believe you, but Stan is kind of a professional con man,” he laughed bitingly. “But I don’t want your help. Not only is Mabel not here, but she can’t be in Gravity Falls. The accident was in California and it’s just not—“

“Spend one day with me, and if she’s not here, I’ll leave you alone.”

Dipper—seemingly surprised at being interrupted—just raised an eyebrow.

Norman, on the other hand—with his heart basically pounding out of his ribcage—secretly was wishing to die. Seriously, just like that? He interrupted Dipper? _‘Spend a day with me’? Could you be any more obvious? What the hell, Babcock, get focused, this is a job—_

“…just one?”

Norman gulped, his throat getting drier and drier. Holy shit, this guy was actually contemplating this?

“Yeah,” Norman breathed out nervously ( _pleasedon’tlookexcitedpleasedon’tlookexcited_ ), “just one.“

* * *

 As soon as Norman had put their one-day deal into action, Stan descended upon them from god-knows-where with spaghetti and pop tarts. Dipper, taking one look at the lunch, bluntly said, “Me and Norman are going out to eat. Gonna search for Mabel,” Dipper rolled his eyes.

Stan laughed. “Okay, but you’re covering for this kid’s lunch when you eat out.”

Dipper chuckled, crossing his arms. “Okay, got it. I can handle paying for one day, since we’re not gonna find Mabel anyway,” Dipper mumbled. And after some evil eye glares from Stan (“Dipper, my fezzes were freakin’ bedazzled; this isn’t a joke!”) and some huffy retaliation from Dipper (“I know ghost activity, Grunkle Stan, and it’s not her! Did you even consider any other possibility? Your new cashier perhaps? Her friends seem to be as much as trouble as Wendy’s used to be, you know!”), they were off with a bang of a Mystery Shack door slam.

Norman was leading them into a very simple plan. Find the girl’s ghost, prove Stan to be right, allow Norman to reunite them, help her move on, soften Dipper a little bit, shake his hand, cut all ties, and pretend he didn’t find him attractive, and then go back to zombie movie fun time for a job well done.  
“So… What’s your plan again?” Dipper smirked, as they crossed the same street for the third time.

Norman squinted in annoyance at the revisited site, ignoring the other boy’s gleeful face. Unfortunately for Norman, the first part was already a problem. He had no idea how to navigate through Gravity Falls. “Are you kidding me. How did we even get back here again; we actually took turns the second time!” he said to no one in particular.  
Dipper sighed. “I get that you believe my uncle and stuff, and that you’re doing all you can to reunite me and Mabel or whatever, but I don’t get how hanging around here would do it.”

“I mean… I don’t know your sister…” Norman offered. "I just thought we could just start somewhere in town…”

Dipper’s eyes softened. “Right… Sorry, I forget you’re not actually from here,” he mumbled. Dipper looked away pondering, as his eyes flitted over a familiar diner. He stared at the establishment for so long that Norman actually turned around to look at it himself.

“Um… Do you want to eat there?” Norman pointed.

Dipper blinked. “Yeah, yeah, I guess,” he nodded. “Might as well. If you’re reuniting me and my sister, I guess I should tell you who exactly you should be looking for.“

* * *

 “Oh, hey, Dip,” Lazy Susan smiled as she sauntered over to Dipper and Norman’s booth. “Who you got there?”

“This is Norman. Acquaintance,” Dipper smiled evenly, gesturing to the skinny Massachusetts native sitting across from him.

Lazy Susan laughed with such gusto Norman ended up wincing. “Oh, knowing you, sweet pea, I bet that’ll change pretty quickly, oh ho,” said the waitress. She lifted the eyelid of her lazy eye and flapped it, yelling out a loud “wink!”

_…what the hell?_

Norman turned to Dipper, his eyebrows clearly defined in a "what the heck was that kind of implication about” sort of look. Dipper, glancing at the menu nonchalantly, didn’t even notice Norman’s discomfort. Norman fidgeted with his own menu, glancing at Dipper’s eyes and then back down to the sandwich choices, having an internal battle over what words to choose–

“I locked lips with a merman once.”

Norman blinked. “Sorry?” he offered.

Dipper sighed, putting the menu down. He leaned back into the seat, muttering, “Yeah, I guess Stan wouldn’t have told you…”

“Well,” Dipper shrugged, making eye contact with Norman again—why are they so hazel I can’t do this—and said bluntly, “When it comes to the love department, I roll with the punches, and let's just say Gravity Falls just so happens to have me pegged for a certain type of reputation.”

"Damn adorable is what he is!” Lazy Susan shouted brightly, setting two cups of water down for the two boys. “But loads of failures, that he’s got."

Dipper rolled his eyes. "Lazy Susan, all I’ve done is ‘kiss’ a merman, at least, according to you all."

Norman blinked. "I’m sorry, did you just say mer–”

“Don’t forget the werewolves!”

“You better believe I’ll forget it! Alpha male, my–”

“Wait, did you just say werewolves–"

"Just because I gave CPR to half a fish–-who was receiving Mabel's affections in the first place, thank you very much-–and flirted with a charming wolf-boy who was a fan of my Mystery Shack act when I was fourteen doesn’t make me the playboy you think I am–”

“I saw how those vampires looked at you two years ago, boy,” Lazy Susan leered. “Sure, they wanted your cutie of a sister to make her their coven leader’s lover, but that one in particular definitely had an eye for you–”

“Thank you, Susan,” Dipper said loudly. “I’m sure all of Gravity Falls loves hearing of how horrible I am at flirting, even when those receiving it aren’t even human.”

The diner bellowed in laughter. A lumberjack–literally sobbing from his laughter–approached, clapping Norman on the back. “Dipper here’s pretty fruitless in the love department, kid. Human or supernatural… this kid can’t catch a break!”

Dipper smiled thoughtfully, ignoring the urge to counter the statement. “And how’s Wendy doing, Manly Dan?”

The lumberjack grew wistful, manly tears welling up in his eyes. “Sent us all a picture a week ago. She’s doing great out there,” he called back to Dipper as he exited the diner.

Dipper’s eyes followed as the man left the restaurant. Mindlessly wiping off the condensation on his glass, Dipper smiled gently as his fingers traced a “w” to be seen against the drops, only to erase it just moments later. Norman, highly observant as ever, noticed it and put it in the mind palace he had already reserved for Dipper Pines. _Wendy, huh?_

“So…” Norman cleared his throat. After their teasing subsided, the diner had returned to normal as though nothing happened. The clacking of teeth and the loud sips of soda. The hum of conversation. The sound of clinking silverware. Lazy Susan banging on the pie machine.

“Yeah,“ Dipper said monotonously, flicking his hair out of his eyes, "the big take-away from all of that is that, I have horrible luck in love, supernatural or human.”

Norman blinked rapidly, staring at Dipper as a blush rose on his cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a few lumberjacks snigger at their place by the counter. Norman chose to ignore it. Ok, Babcock, just because he’s into guys (or werewolves?) doesn’t mean he’s into–

“Dude, please don’t be like that,“ Dipper sighed, annoyed. "My sexuality may be fluid, but trust me,” he grinned, “you’re not my type.”

_Ow, okay, yeah._

Norman blinked a bit, nodding as his eyebrows became more and more furrowed. The lumberjacks’ smirks fell, and they awkwardly returned to their corned beef hash. _Don’ttakeitpersonallyBabcock, don’ttakeitpersonallyBabcock, don’ttakeitpersonallyBabcock._

“Yeah, sorry,” Norman mustered up the courage to mutter, gazing out, swatting his hand back and forth. _Play it cool, Babcock, this is a job and you have no time to be upset, you idiot._ “I… Of course, I wouldn’t assume that you’re like… automatically into me or anything just ‘cause I’m a dude and you happen to be into dudes,” he swallowed. He winced, nodding vigorously, "Like… um, I wouldn’t like… assume that or anything. Like, yeah, I’m not your type anyway, so whatever, and I didn’t mean, to like… offend you?” he squeaked hesitantly, his voice barely registering to be audible.

Dipper blushed, frowning. “Oh… I mean… I, uh, yeah. I just get that reaction all the damn time like it's everyone's business,” Dipper’s nostrils flared, “so I kind of lashed—“

“Yeah,” Norman interrupted, smiling as fake as can be. “Sorry… yeah,” he nodded again. “It’s, uhm. I… uhm—it’s whatever. I mean, it’s not whatever, like… your sexuality is super important, uhm…“ Norman laughed out of nervousness. "Dipper,” he started off quietly, “whether you like guys or not doesn’t affect me or my working relationship with you."

_Lie #1._

"Okay, then,” Dipper said carefully. “Then what were you going to say?”

Norman chuckled, looking away as Susan came through with their orders. When she moved away to refill coffees, Norman restarted.

“I just don’t know Gravity Falls well enough,” he laughed, giving it up. “And from what I can gather, it looks more and more like _Dual Spires_ everyday–”

“Dual Spires?”

“The show? Like, the one on TV?”

“…never heard of it…”

“Ok, just nevermind,” Norman shook his head. “The point is… this is the day where I’m supposed to prove it, right? That’s Mabel here with us. I’m supposed to be helping you, but I don’t even know the town, Dip–"

Norman paused, noticing the slight details. The ghost of tears in Dipper’s eyes, and the sadness that suddenly clouded them over. The tenseness in his shoulders, as they spazzed and locked suddenly. The shaking of his hands.

"You know what… fine. All Stan wants me to do is talk about it, so why not?! Ghost or not, that’s why you’re here, right? You’re here to listen to me? Comfort me?” Dipper said, his voice cracking, its sound gritty and low, as his eyes stared intensely at the stack of pancakes in front of him.

“Yes,” Norman said firmly, as solidly as he could in the face of an upset Dipper Pines.

“Okay, then,” Dipper muttered softly, his eyes locking on Norman’s. “Let’s talk about Mabel.”


	3. Chapter 3

After Mabel’s accident, there was only one way Dipper could view his life thus far: there had been Life With Mabel. And then there was Life Without Mabel.

Life With Mabel was just what it sounded like. Sectioning it like that didn’t mean that their relationship was perfect, but at least it was… right. (More right than Life Without Mabel ever would be, at least). He’d roll his eyes at Mabel’s Crush of the Month; he’d laugh triumphantly when he won bets, and bicker and sigh when he lost them; he was the overprotective little brother too, because he knew it took a lot to break Mabel, and there was no way he’d let anyone who tried to do that get away with it.

Dipper—in their past 14 years of twinship—had learned his mind worked different from hers: he was the planner, a little awkward and a bit too calculating and much too scared sometimes, and Mabel was effortless, a bit eccentric and a little too comfortable, but overall charming. She was that loose little bit of wind that floated by in a way that Dipper’s head couldn’t wrap around or emulate. But he was also okay with that.

And then after one night—one glorious night of strawberry malt milkshakes and sweet potato fries and laughter and loud music and ditching lame parties, and being almost-fifteen and stupidly, wickedly, breathtakingly alive—Dipper’s eyes opened to find a hospital ceiling.

And just like that, as he stared up at this foreign room—this mix of natural sunlight and unnecessary fluorescents—he knew that balance was gone. That night—so ultimately planned, so, so almost perfect—had included a variable he didn’t account for.

“Are they okay?” he said in the silence, softly and hoarsely and quite terrified. And the silence that greeted his question came with the burden of bad news, answering in multitudes that choked Dipper and lit up his throat with the fire of unshed tears.

There was a small subsection of Life With Mabel that Dipper liked to call Limbo. After the doctors said he was well enough to walk, Dipper—mobile IV cord with him—made a trek to visit Mabel’s room in ICU for the first time. There she was, the wrong colors in her face and not enough color in her clothes, and matted, messy hair and the presence of an oxygen mask. Severe brain trauma. A coma. It would take a miracle, said his mother just three days previously, words that had floated into his head and just hung inside like a cloud, dragging heartwrenchingly slowly ever since.

Limbo was the entire month of life support afterwards that the Pines family endured, mostly because of Dipper’s stubbornness: and if anyone had seen the impossible, it was him. And he was damn sure ready for a miracle. And if anyone deserved a miracle, it was Mabel.

“Hey, Mabel,” he said the night before they were going to pull the plug. “Don’t leave me, okay?” he said. And as he held her hand in those last few seconds, he waited for a miracle that just didn’t come for him. 

* * *

Life Without Mabel was all kinds of wrong. Dipper doesn’t remember much of the days put on for the public; the wake and the funeral and the burial were just seas of people dressed in black, of gray skies and red eyes, of his mother’s soft sighs and his dad’s soft sobs.

That week of coming back to school was almost as worse. I’m sorry, people confided. She was wonderful, people said. We’ll all miss her, peoples’ voices broke. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, someone said.

 _No_ , Dipper thought. _What am I going through?_

School was a blur, of shifty glances and worried looks. Hallways of strangers and acquaintances and actual friends turned into bomb squads, their peripheral vision trained on Dipper; they were waiting for his eventual breakdown, of the tears and the screaming and the sobs that accompanied blowing up at someone who would finally stomp on all those eggshells.

 _Too bad_ , thought Dipper, _that they’re all so fucking careful_.

* * *

 “Dipper?”

Dipper immediately started, goosebumps rising in midst of the fact that Dipper had actually forgotten what it was like for people to try to talk to him.

He locked eyes with Oliver—dark, dark, dark green, lined with soft bags under his eyes—and he could almost hear Mabel’s voice in his head (“Isn’t he just the dreamiest!? His eyes have that brooding look to them, oh my god!”).

“I—“ Oliver frowned deeply at the hesitating hitch in his voice, and—after moments of him struggling to produce words, blushed and cut off his eye contact with Dipper. “Look,” he said quietly, staring at the floor. “I… I know that we were just getting used to… uhm, getting to know each other and hanging out and stuff… just like… this year… so… and…

“I just… I loved her too, you know,” his voice said in the tiniest whisper.

With a twitch of Dipper’s lips—the tiniest smile—his chest became a little tighter. “Yeah,” he breathed softly, loosening up at the sound of Oliver’s words. _Love. I loved Mabel, didn’t I?_ “Yeah, she was loved by a lot of people, wasn’t she?”

Oliver, who knew Dipper was a boy of few words in grief, opened his eyes wide in surprise at Dipper’s statement, and his face flushed from the response: apparently, a “yeah” was enough encouragement.

“Anyway,” Oliver’s barely-there smile threatened to grow, “if you, uhm… obviously, I miss her too, so if you want to talk—but only if you want to!—um, I’m… available. If. You know, you need to talk or something,” Oliver finished quickly, wincing.

Dipper turned, biting his lip and finally shutting the door to his locker. “I know,” he smiled gently, nodding. 

* * *

When everyone around Dipper all realized he wouldn’t break in pieces, the wet, sympathetic air of his classmates evaporated. Strangers stopped offering condolences. People who used to hang out with started leaving him alone. Give him his space, he caught a friend of his whispering.

_Give me my space._

Dipper decided that was for the best. Yet he thought about it logically: B _ut why? Shouldn’t I crave attention because someone so important is gone now? Shouldn’t I want to fill that void, when the right time comes?_

And with a twinge of fear and clarity, Dipper realized he didn’t. 

* * *

There was something terrifying about relearning how to live life without someone who has always been there. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t his own person. He was. He was completely and so differently unlike Mabel. But that was the thing. He was unlike Mabel. She had been there his whole life, and they had managed to carve out that balance for themselves. Mabel was lightness; Dipper was grounded.

And suddenly, Mabel was gone and the air felt like water and Dipper was too grounded, far too much, and there was no wind, she wasn’t here anymore, she wasn’t, and Dipper struggled—he struggled—to think of her, and his mind wandered to their last week in Gravity Falls, and he remembered their adventures and their run-ins with the vampires and the way his eyes burned and the way Dipper cried when he fell in love with him and he struggled to remember what she said to him then, “a real man stands up for what he believes in, especially love, Dipface, so shut your trap,” and Dipper felt like he was drowning–he was drowning in memories now, in his own difficulties to remember her, to be able to bring her up in his mind, and fuck—he forgot what her laugh sounded like and Dipper forgot what her laugh sounded like—

“Dipper?”

He looked up and realized that he had been crying for a while now, the pages of an old Gravity Falls adventure log properly wilting underneath repetitively falling tears.

It’s probably not the smartest moment in which to indulge his mother on his summer romance with a vampire, but Dipper and his mother huddled together and cried for two hours anyway.

* * *

2.5 weeks passed, and Dipper started looking people in the eye again. It’s only in conversation that he realized people stopped saying Mabel’s name a long time ago and can only say “her.” 

* * *

“Ollie will be there.”

Dipper flushed deeply (how many people know about this then?) and tried to answer something clever and witty and deflective of something happening between him and Oliver.

Yeah, okay, I’ll go tonight, he heard himself say instead. The girl, Becca—an old girlfriend of Mabel’s—smiled brightly and winked. “Perfect. See you there, then,” she grinned. Dipper’s heart beat a little too loudly, as the adrenaline rush from his spontaneity deafened everything around him.

* * *

The party itself was alright. It smelled softly of nice house and cheap cigarettes and hints of alcohol. Nothing changed at the parties; there wasn’t an open group of high school hierarchy in place, but cliques littered the suburban home anyway. Some music in the living room, where some kids where either dancing or making out or drunkenly doing both. Some were in the kitchen, eating ice cream or playing beer pong. Dipper—who had only decided to come with a girlfriend of Mabel’s with the intent of trying to find some guy he liked at a party—sat awkwardly next to Mabel’s old group of friends in the foyer, who were lounging and chatting and playing board games inappropriately. Normalcy. Dipper shut his eyes and breathed in the secondhand smoke and the wafty scent of vodka. _Normalcy_.

As the night droned on, Dipper realized breathing in normalcy started becoming too difficult for him. Each time he looked around the house, everyone was too normal—the talking and the awkward kissing and the sporadic laughter. It was the mundane sound of being alive, and Dipper’s skin felt too tight for him, his heart started itching, his throat too dry. His grief was fresher than he thought, and their lack of loss started to suffocate him.

“You know,” a heaven-sent (but amused) whisper broke his spell of anxiety, “Oliver’s kind of been staring at you all night.” Becca leaned back from Dipper’s ear on her left and snuggled into her slightly drunk (and half-asleep) boyfriend on her right. Dipper hadn’t paused from breathing deeply—in, out, in, out—the rush of air moving through his lungs—

“I think he’s been wanting to leave,” Becca mewed, her eyes closing lazily as she dug her face deeper into her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Why doesn’t he then?” Dipper whispered.

Becca paused, gently brushing away the hair from her face. A small smile grew languidly, lazily—from pot or happiness, Dipper isn’t sure—and she giggled, hooking her arm through her drowsy boyfriend’s slack one. “He’s waiting for you, obviously,” she grinned.

At those words, Dipper’s eyes automatically flashed to Oliver—suddenly, hazel met green—and Oliver flushed in embarrassment, getting caught staring. Dipper can’t feel his body—doesn’t realize what he’s doing—but he’s suddenly in front of the older boy. All at once, their close proximity made Dipper feel a little drunk—which was ridiculous since he only had two wine coolers—but Dipper smiled anyway. He felt warm. His chest already felt lighter.

And lighter was good.

“Hey, Ollie,” Dipper said roughly. “I feel like shit. Walk me home?”

* * *

The two of them left the party, both of them wanting actual space to talk, but not quite ready to be made the prize platter of gossip by going into a bedroom. It doesn’t surprise Dipper, really. Oliver had always been a gentleman.

Dipper closed his eyes as they walked, breathing in the coolness of the dry, California night air. The glowing of the party faded behind them, and Dipper watched as the normalcy sprawled out before him again: suburb and suburb and suburb, the mixture of trees and concrete, and warm, well-lit, yellow windows and quiet stars. Normalcy. He just couldn’t get used to it.

“I… This is going to seem wildly inappropriate, Dip,” Oliver’s voice cut in. His words barely got out of his throat, but he said, “But I was going to ask you out on a date at the party you guys left. _The last time_ ,” he clarified.

Dipper blinked, his eyes wide, and his heart pounded too quickly, too fast, too much, an overbearing thump-thump-thump—

“I know you were,” Dipper said softly.

To Oliver’s inquisitive look, Dipper laughed and said, “Apparently, keeping secrets for your best friend trump letting your twin brother prepare for getting asked out.”

Oliver’s nostrils flared in amusement, and a soft smirk played on his lips. “Naturally.”

A natural silence followed the two of them as they continued walking, and the two boys drink in the feeling of smiling in front of each other. “Hey, Dip,” Oliver interrupted, pausing now at where they are on the sidewalk. They were barely on the Pines’ property now. “I… Um. Well… you… and me. Is what Mabel told me true? That you like me?”

Dipper swallowed, feeling all the weight of the world crushing him on the inside. “Yea—I… I mean… I think you’re cute,” he mumbled quickly, watching as Oliver struggles to hold back a smile.

“Cool,” Oliver finally decided to say. “Uhm… yeah. Thanks,” he said as his grin lit up his face.

Dipper smirked. “Why? Do you like me or something?”

Oliver laughed. “Well, for starters,” he smiled back, “you’re not like the rest of the freshmen who manage to piss me off.”

“So I’m relatively normal then,” Dipper nodded. “Yeah, I can see the appeal in that.”

“Well, also,” Oliver laughed, getting closer to Dipper’s ear, “you’re quite my type.”

And because Oliver was sweet (of course he’s sweet, Dipper thought, he was Mabel’s best friend), he left the softest, gentlest peck on Dipper’s cheek, high and close to the ear he just whispered in. _Pines, he’s cute and you like him and you want this, you want him, you want this you want this you want this you want this—_

They lingered like this, cheek-to-cheek, warm breaths fanning out across the skin of their necks, warming them in the night air. Dipper moved first—a quick kiss to Oliver’s jaw—and both move, kisses on skin on skin on skin until both of them find each other’s lips. It’s a little messy and slightly overdue (Dipper can almost hear Mabel yell out “FINALLY!!!!”), but it felt nice, this everything, and he gently slipped his hands to the curve of Oliver’s neck, and the satisfaction of it all—how nice Oliver was and how nobody freaking cared and how he was at a school where nobody gave two shits about masculinity and liking boys and the boy he happened to like was cute and funny and a rising junior and they got along so well. And all that perfection spurred Dipper’s brain: “Mabel’s gonna freak the hell out—“

And Dipper pulled back, back from a surprised Oliver who was quite liking what was happening, and Dipper—barely holding it together—lost himself all at once. Because—once again, something so, so almost perfect went to shitty in two seconds.

“Dipper?” Oliver whispered, “Why…?” And Dipper shook his head and breathed in and out and tried to control his breathing, but sobbing made it too difficult. Kiss saliva and snot became one and the same thing, and he was shaking, so, so much—

“Dipper, hey,” Oliver said. “Hey.”

“Sorry,” Dipper sniffed, trying to scramble out of Oliver’s lap.

 _Stupid, stupid, caring gentleman_ , Dipper thought, as he realized that Oliver had embraced him from behind, rocking Dipper back and forth on the edge of the lawn of his own house. Dipper paused, thinking about scooting away in the grass, but ultimately decided against it. Oliver didn't deserve the wrong idea.

“I forgot,” Dipper whispered after his breathing gets under control again. Dipper felt a hum from Oliver, a tickling vibration against the top of Dipper’s curls.

Dipper sighed and relaxed into him. “When I was kissing you, the first thing I wanted to do was tell Mabel.”

Dipper braced himself when Oliver stiffened, but ultimately, both boys relaxed back into the hug, their chests slowly starting to ease up and sync. _I feel lighter again_ , Dipper thought.

So when Oliver’s hands wrapped even tighter around Dipper, Dipper didn’t even fight it.

* * *

Dipper smiles calmly, a strange amount of peace flowing throughout his body. “Thanks, Ollie,” he whispers, nuzzling into the boy hugging him from behind. 

* * *

 _Too bad Dipper doesn’t look up_ , mourns the boy hugging one Dipper Pines. _Because then Dipper would realize I have blue eyes, not green._


End file.
